


it's nothing like the fairytales

by sebviathan



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Canon Compliant, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the first few weeks on the boat, Richard realizes a couple things about himself and Galavant. Mostly himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's nothing like the fairytales

**Author's Note:**

> The title's a lyric from _Love is Strange_ , which Gal and Izzy sang in Dungeons and Dragons Lady.

The first time Richard hears him singing that song, it's not necessarily meant for his ears. Of course, this boat isn't quite big enough to reasonably expect any privacy, so he doesn't feel bad about leaning against the wall of the cabin and listening to Galavant sing to himself.

It's a pleasant distraction from the dullness of their new life at sea—though they've only been at it for a few days, now. Richard's hardly ever gone more than an hour in his life without _something_ to do, generally at the slightest whim. But now there's nothing but bleak ocean on all sides of them, and every meal is the same, and he barely even gets the reprieve of sleep because the wooden floor makes his back ache. If he's lucky, something will jump out of the water every now and then, or he'll see some bird overhead... or Galavant will sing.

His chest does something funny when he hears the line about _him_ , and he can only assume it's his pride. Or longing for when he actually _was_ "a king of wealth and stature" and not a plaything for his psychopath of a wife, or once again simply the younger, less powerful of two brothers.

Hearing it in Galavant's voice is a plus, too.

When the man finishes his business in there and opens the door, he glances down to see the slumped king and seems to deliberate for a moment before sitting down next to him.

Richard takes that moment to tell him, in all honesty:

"You have a beautiful voice, you know."

Galavant raises an eyebrow at him as he leans back and folds his arms, as though forgetting that he'd just been singing, but then softens.

"...Thanks."

The way he smiles at him, then, for just a split second, makes Richard's chest feel funny again.

 

*

 

Sometimes Galavant seems to just barely tolerate him, but that doesn't bother Richard much. He _knows_ he's a handful, even to the one person who's stuck by him his whole life, so he's used to the looks of exasperation. If he could be a different, more likeable person, he certainly would—but this is who he is. A dramatic, somewhat flamboyant, complaining brat.

Meanwhile, Galavant will sing upon request, knowing it's the only thing that will make him feel better. And he'll sit and listen to him talk for hours on end, and he'll laugh at some of his jokes (only the especially good ones, though), and he'll sometimes even give Richard the better-tasting portion of their daily meals. Granted, it's after a considerable amount of whining, but many others wouldn't have granted him that.

And he himself doesn't complain too much when Richard tosses and turns in his sleep, only to end up clutching onto him in the middle of the night.

Though he does beg the pirates for a spare pillow for Richard to cuddle with instead of him, and barely expresses any guilt when one becomes available by means of a pirate dying. Luckily he didn't die _on_ the pillow, so it should be safe, but part of him is disappointed that he no longer has an excuse to hold Galavant at night.

"You're much more comfortable than these crusty old pillows," he admits with ease. "And much less smelly."

"Yes, well, the extra weight on my chest isn't too comfortable for _me_ ," Galavant tells him. "That and I never have any idea what to do with my arm—you know I've woken up three times, now, with it completely numb?"

He grumbles in response, but it's fair enough.

He also can't help but think that the obvious solution would be for them to spoon, but some kind of fear keeps him from saying that aloud.

 

*

 

A month or so on this boat and he's grown terribly homesick, even though he hasn't really been _home_ in over a year—that is, he misses Gareth. Above all else—the bed, the castle, the throne, even the _power_ _—_ he misses his friend so terribly that this trip barely seems worth it.

Having a new friend by his side is what makes it worth it, even if Galavant is a bit reluctant to refer to himself as such.

In fact, to the hero this trip is self-proclaimed to be nothing more than a stop on his journey to go save that Valencian princess, Isabella. Or as _he_ calls her, his "one true love."

Richard finds himself slightly more nauseous every time he mentions her, especially when he sees the way Galavant smiles and becomes glassy-eyed afterward. So he's taken to looking away whenever her name (or epithet) comes up, and even to avoiding talking about Gareth if only so Galavant won't talk about her in turn.

For a while it doesn't occur to him to wonder exactly why he feels sick at the very mention of her—it seems obvious enough that he's simply jealous of the attention, and that he doesn't like being reminded that the other man likely isn't in this for him at all. That, and trying to analyze the feelings only makes him feel sicker.

But one evening, the thoughts won't escape his mind, and subsequently the nausea won't leave him. Perhaps that's caused mainly by the disgusting dinner they're eating along with the rocking boat, but he can't help but associate it with Isabella.

Richard looks at Galavant in the lamplight and feels his chest heave of its own accord. And, feeling as though the words are coming in that manner as well, he asks,

"What does love feel like, Gal?"

At that, the other man stops chewing abruptly and turns to give him a curious look.

"Hm?"

"What does—"

"No, I—" he holds his hand out and hurries to swallow his bite of... whatever it is, then continues: "I heard what you said. But I mean—what do you mean? Surely you know."

"Well, I..." He looks down, feeling a sudden sense of embarrassment. "I don't think I do."

When he looks back up, something in Galavant's eyes looks sad. He hopes it isn't pity.

"What about Madalena? You said you hadn't loved anyone before you met her."

Richard's eyes widen. "I told you that?"

"The night we tried to kill your brother. Then I suppose it makes sense you don't remember, seeing as we were both very drunk... but yes, you said that."

"...Well. I was wrong, then," he tells him bitterly. "Delusional, or... I don't know. Maybe I _thought_ I loved her, I mean, I felt more strongly than I ever had before in my life, but how could it have been love? She was never anything but cruel to me, and she used me, and she barely even let me know her."

"I loved her once too, Richard. It was a mistake on both of us."

"Yes, but... looking back on it, I don't think it was even love on my part. I think I was in love with an _idea_ more than anything, and I think I've spent my whole life attracted to people who hurt me. But how can I know unless I have something to compare it to?"

 _And if no one's ever loved_ me _, how am I meant to recognize it when I feel it?_ he adds in the back of his mind, but doesn't dare say.

"That's... an impressive train of thought," Galavant says, straightening up. "I suppose you're more mature than I gave you credit for. But for the record, I've only been in love twice in my life. You think I'm qualified to tell you what it feels like?"

He smirks at him then, and Richard's heart beats faster in some kind of desperation.

"I do."

"Well, it's..." Galavant stares wistfully ahead, and Richard knows he's thinking about the princess. There's a sharp pain in his chest, but he ignores it. "It's pain."

"...Pain?" he repeats, frowning.

"And wonderful at the same time," Galavant continues. "The sort that you get addicted to. When they could be a dirty, tangled mess and you would still want to look at them forever, and when even their worst traits start to become beautiful in your eyes, and... when you know that they could break your heart and you would run back to them anyway. Does that help?"

Only after he's finished speaking does Richard realize that he hasn't been breathing this whole time, and finally inhales. And then nods.

"It does, actually."

"Good," Galavant punctuates with a pat on his knee, at which Richard stares down at his hand. "You should hurry up and finish your... whatever. Before it becomes inedible."

Richard would take his advice, but he suddenly isn't hungry enough to stomach more than the bread.

So he didn't love Madalena after all. At this point it isn't exactly a surprise, but it feels good to know for sure: It was mere infatuation. Maybe on some level he truly was attracted to her wickedness, and something in him knew how easily she would hurt him. Maybe she's some kind of siren who tricks everyone into thinking they love her.

Meanwhile he did get the answer he was looking for—and not just to the reason for his nausea, but for so much else. Now he understands the way his mood so easily flips, especially when the other man sings, and the way his chest will grow warm, and... his recent dreams.

He was wrong, at least, about not knowing what love feels like.

As he glances over at Galavant again, the feeling in Richard's chest doesn't seem so funny as it does natural.

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: [X](http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/i-may-be-ace-but-you-re-the-king)


End file.
